


When I Suffer, Help Me Heal

by RiddleMeEvil



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Acid, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ani needs a hug even though it would hurt, Ani-Torture, Established Relationship, Evil Falleens, Force Bonds, Force suppressing drugs, M/M, Obi-Wan better get in there soon, SHE WILL DO ANYTHING FOR KYBER CRYSTALS, Torture, electro whips, obikin, paid rapist, semi graphic almost rape, semi graphic torture, stargazing cuties, the Lady is cruel, weight loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 15:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiddleMeEvil/pseuds/RiddleMeEvil
Summary: "Four weeks we have kept you here. Four weeks you have endured in silence, your body crying out for a release, an end to your continuous suffering..."Anakin is captured, and Obi-Wan needs to find him before any lasting damage is done.





	When I Suffer, Help Me Heal

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I had a lot of feelings recently, and this is what happened. Take heed of the warnings above- they are there for a reason!!!! Enjoy!

A red hot line of fire streaks with a sharp crack through the air, the snap of electricity meeting flesh followed by a breathy whimper. The finely dressed Falleen reclining on a cushioned, throne like chair in the corner raises a finger, delicately sipping from a jeweled cup with dispassionate eyes. In the center of the room, another Falleen stands, eyebrow ridges drawn together as he glowers at the third occupant of the small room. He draws his arm away to thrust it forcefully forward once more and the electro whip falls again, another stripe marring the once perfect, golden skin of the captive's back.

Too weak for words, arms strung up above his head and holding the majority of his vastly depleted weight, the young human whimpers again, the sheer agony of living and the pain of his broken and bruised body making a louder sound impossible. The lounging Falleen slowly placed her glass on a small table, gracefully rising to her feet. She steps smoothly forward, around the figures of her prisoner and guard to the front of the bound human.

Pausing only momentarily, she reaches out, grasping his chin with harsh fingers and lifting his head to face her, sharp nails digging into his skin. She tilts her head, coldly glittering eyes taking in his appearance.

His body is gaunt and pale, his skeletal structure clearly visible through his bruised skin, colored in varying shades of purple, blue and yellow. He's covered in dirt and dust, dull reddish brown, dried blood from his many wounds streaking over the ghostly flesh, save for his back which is bleeding profusely, injuries reopened and added during this most recent visit of hers.

Clad only in tattered pants, one ankle swollen twice the size of the other and his skin prickling with goosebumps in the icy air, he stares blankly into her eyes, flinching again as the whip bites into his skin. A hoarse grunt tears from his lips, no longer rosy and smirking but still plump, and his defined, beautifully sculpted features are now drawn with pain and exhaustion.

She considers him for a moment, her dark hazel eyes thirstily drinking in the exquisite pain in the captive human's sky blue ones, tracing the now familiar scar over his right eye, and a cruel smirk parts her own lips. She slaps him fiercely with her free hand, the powerful blow slamming his face to the side, and there's a sharp intake of breath.

She hates him, him and his perfect face, for not giving her what she wants— For not speaking, never breaking, for the utter frustration she feels with each passing day because he won't give in; will only stare blankly at her with eyes she knows are more expressive than any other in the galaxy... Because who _doesn't_  know how Anakin Skywalker's eyes show his every emotion?— yet to him, she is still nothing, even as she forces him to endure gruesome acts and torture. He does not hate her, she knows, but she can feel his indifference, and it stokes the growing wildfire of hate within her darkened heart.

She steps back from him and her voice pierces the silence of the room, high and clear. "Four weeks we have kept you here. Four weeks you have endured in silence, your body crying out for a release, an end to your continuous suffering— one I shall not permit you to have until I have been given the information I require. I understand your ways, simpleton, I know that you hope I will give up; That I will forget what could be known to me and generously put you out of your misery— but I will not."

Her words are punctuated by another strike of the whip and his lips part, agony flashing across his face and delicate eyelids fluttering closed for a brief second before reopening to gaze into hers. "I will keep you here until you break. I will not hesitate to withhold the limited amount of sustenance you've been provided with, will not shy away from breaking every bone in your body one by one until you have told me the secret of the crystals the Jedi use. I will know where they are harvested, I will know their function, and you will tell me— or I will make you. I could keep you here for years, never allowing you to sleep, torturing every cell in your body for as long as I please, however I please... But that will all stop if you speak."

Her hand, deceptively gentle, rises to cradle his cheek, and if he had the strength left in his body he would cringe away. The Falleen behind him halts, the tail of the whip trailing on the floor as he wipes sweat from his forehead. The human... the Jedi— _Anakin_  — heaves for breath, emotion finally, finally appearing in the azure depths of his eyes. She recognizes his determination, and she sneers at him, teeth flashing in the dim light. The Jedi forces his head away from her hand with a previously unknown reserve of strength, his lips twisting into a feral snarl.

She waits with baited breath— perhaps he will choose to speak at last— but he does not speak, only bares his teeth in an animalistic grin, azure eyes snapping with emotion. She senses somehow that this is his last stand, that this show of defiance and resolve has been dragged up from the very final shreds of his being, and she rears back with disgust and hatred etched onto her face, marring the alien beauty. She screams at him in her native language, loathing in her voice, her hands finding the tiny but effective blade hidden in her flowing clothing. She slashes at his chest and abdomen, slicing deep gashes into his skin, mindless in her fury.

Her wildly striking arm cuts across his collarbone, blood welling up out of the laceration, and he whimpers once again. At the fall of his earlier defenses and seconds of bravado she stops, decorum taking the place of her momentary insanity and vengeful actions, and she moves away, dropping the blade to the floor. She glides to the doorway, her face a mask of apathy and contempt, only pausing to imperiously gesture at the other Falleen in the room.

"Continue. You may use any means necessary." The door slides shut behind her, and for a few moments there is silence— until a scream of unadulterated agony pierces the still air. She smiles grimly and proceeds away, groveling, finely clad attendants meeting her at the end of the hall and escorting her to her rooms.

•–•–•

Inside the room, the Jedi's back is a bloody, torn mess, the Falleen wielding the electro whip with a brutal efficiency. It has been turned to the highest setting, and with each crack against the tattered skin of the young man's back it sends visible pulses of energy through him, stimulating his nerves and tormenting every cell with a complete overload of harsh feeling.

The tail has cut so deeply into Anakin's flesh that in some places it has dug almost to the bone, and he screams in pain with each strike. He can no longer feel anything beyond this hazy, dark and agony filled world his life has become, his Force sense diminished by his weakness and the drugs they force into his system every night.

His strong facade has broken, his suffering so great he is unable to internalize the depth of his pain. His vocal cords ache with each tormented scream and breath he takes, his lungs burning from the restraining position he's been in ever since he was captured. He's given up trying to stand on his own, his coordination and balance as elusive as the Force.

The whip stops but he doesn't notice, his back on fire and every nerve, every cell aflame. There's movement behind him— he can hear his torturer unwinding something, the rasp of rubber along the floor grating in his ears. There's a sound— shuffling of limbs, the twist of a knob— and he's blasted full force from behind with a hose of icy water.

This pain is different from the whip; it's like sharp, frozen knives stabbing relentlessly into every inch of his back, unbearable pressure knocking the limited air from his lungs. The Falleen moves around him, soaking every inch of him with the icy water, spraying his face for so long he's sure he'll die from lack of oxygen. The pressure moves to his chest and he fruitlessly gasps for air that he cannot receive; air that he needs so desperately that he can't think anymore and he needs it so much he's dying his chest is throbbing his lungs are burning—

The pressure diminishes and he swallows great lungfuls of oxygen, dizziness overtaking him. The water is shut off, cold air even more so now that he's soaked through. It's agonizingly cold, freezing his limbs and cramping his muscles so painfully tears spring to his eyes. He lets them fall, his body aching and stinging, the back of his mind still reaching despairingly into the void that should be the Force; trying to latch back on to the warm, loving presence that's usually always there. It's gone now, he can't feel it anymore, he knows his other half is searching and probably frantic with worry since it's apparently been four weeks and Force, that's a long time—

The Falleen steps in front of him again, idly trailing a sharp, clawed finger down his chest and stomach. The Jedi does nothing, letting his tears fall, watching listlessly as another gleaming blade is produced and pressed to his side. A deep incision is made, the serrated edge of the dagger dragging torturously out of his flesh, blood pouring out in a steady ruby stream.

The Falleen places it back on his belt, unclipping two cables from the wall and moving forward with them in his hands. His fingers slide into the wound— a wave of agony so intense he almost passes out crashes over Anakin— and he secures one cable through the bleeding flesh. He does the same with the other side, tearing the Jedi's body open even more, blood streaming steadily down his side and leg. Pain lances through the young man's abdomen like lightening, his head tipped back in a soundless scream of torment, and the Falleen grins. He produces a spray bottle with a clear, bubbling liquid inside— from where, the captive doesn't know, he's to lost in agony to function enough to notice— and sprays it in the open wound.

The Jedi screams in something more than agony, the liquid burning away at his flesh and insides. He feels raw, turned inside out— his blood burning and boiling in such a vast contrast to the frozen water from moments earlier that he gags on bile. It drips from his lips, clear like the acid burning into his flesh, and he coughs, the contractions sending a wave of fire through his stomach. He's keening, a high pitched, endless noise from the back of his throat.

His torturer stands back as if admiring his work, head cocked to the side and delighted eyes taking in the torment of his prisoner, and then he grasps the cables firmly, tearing them off Anakin's body with a quick motion. The young man's body stiffens, lips parted in a soundless scream of anguish and blood pouring from his side. The Falleen walks around to his back again, gazing calculatingly at the captive, and a flash of thought takes him entirely by surprise. The torturer laughs, his guffaws bouncing off the walls of the tiny room, and he strides quickly away, leaving the prisoner to his agony.

Finally alone, Anakin lets out a sob, his body trembling with shock and pain. The acid is burning deeper into his side, his whole abdomen aching with inhuman suffering. Each breath is excruciating, the cold of the room amplified by the water soaking his skin. He hangs from his arms, dripping wet, blood soaked and sobbing, his agony seen by no one, dizziness and nausea and unconsciousness rising to claim him; and he eventually falls into a blessedly pain free darkness.

•–•–•

Hurrying down the wide hallways, the Falleen turns to a large set of doors, closely guarded by four sets of heavily armored and masked beings. Once admitted and entering into a spacious, well lit bedchamber, the Falleen kneels and bows his head, waiting for permission to speak.

On a dais at the far end of the room is a large bed, the Lady laying within. Beside her is her Lord and a Twi'lek concubine, and the trio are clad in the lightest of garments, provocatively draped over their figures. The Lady's clear voice rings out, a husky edge to it, and the Falleen looks up, his eyes burning with hunger.

"I tell you, rise. Has our guest broken?" Her Lord trails a suggestive hand up her leg, leaning to kiss the concubine and she sighs, the Falleen's eyes following the motion.

"My Lady, my Lord..." He bows once more, stepping close to the bedside. "Our guest has not yet broken, but I have thought of another way to loosen his tongue... With my Lady's permission, of course."

She looks intrigued, oblivious to the amorous pair beside her and their breathy moans, and moves to the edge of the bed, leaning towards him. "I demand you speak it!"

"I have heard tell of humans who ..break when given a _visitor_.." He says in a low voice, eyes trailing suggestively over his Lady's form. She purses her lips, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Yes..." She responds slowly, a slim finger tapping her chin. "Yes, I've heard of that particular..weakness myself. You have my full permission to bring someone in- in fact," She smiles cruelly. "I'll send someone I shall personally select for the job."

He slowly grins up at her, excitement and bloodlust swirling in his eyes. She waves a hand as she turns away, indicating that their audience is complete, and he bows low once more, striding to the grand doors.

Pausing before his exit, he glances back, his Lady now the center of attention in the large bed, slowly being divested of her thin garments. He shivers almost imperceptibly at the moans and sighs emanating from the trio and turns reluctantly away, the large doors closing soundlessly behind him and his exit unnoticed by the three lovers on the bed.

•–•–•

As the sun sets a day later, tortured screams are ringing through the halls, the agony of the Jedi spreading throughout the lower levels of the palace.

Inside the tiny room, Anakin still hangs from the ceiling, the gashes and tears in his back reopened. Though he's been through this torment before, last night was particularly brutal, and he cannot help the screams that rip from his throat with each blow of the electro whip. His side is a throbbing, burning mess— he's positive it's infected— and his exhausted body is on the verge of collapsing.

The Falleen behind him does not speak, has never spoken directly to him, only lashes him harshly with five sharp, consecutive snaps of the whip and he shudders, his body hanging limply from the chains. His suffering is so great that for a moment he doesn't register the words that are drifting from the doorway. He barely tilts his head, the pain making it hard to focus on anything, and suddenly the door slams shut— he's alone once more.

On the other side of the door, the Falleen wipes his dirty hands on a towel, mopping the light sweat from his forehead and neck. A cloaked figure moves swiftly down the hall towards him and he turns, his face twisting into an evil grin.

"Ah, are you the one our Lady has sent to make use of our guest?" He asks, nodding at the door. The figure nods, reaching up to pull away his hood to reveal his face.

"Yes," Comes the gravelly reply from the Zabrak's throat. "What are my limits?"

The torturer waves a hand in an inferior impersonation of his Lady, shaking his head with a cruel laugh. "You have none. Just don't kill him, and he's yours for the night."

The cloaked Zabrak nods and the Falleen opens the door, allowing the being inside and then closing it behind him. He congratulates himself on a job well done and leaves the hall, intent on bathing to rid himself of remaining blood and dust.

•–•–•

Within the chamber, Anakin wearily lifts his head, sharp jolts of pain shooting down his neck and back at the movement. He can hear someone breathing behind him, can _feel_  the abrupt change in the air...

His skin prickles, this time not from the cold, but from the apprehension and sudden fear that saturates every corner of the room, every inch of himself. There's a click on the stone floor— a boot, stepping closer towards his painfully suspended position in the center of the tiny cell— and he shivers, unable to tense his broken and beaten body.

Before he can make a sound or attempt a movement, a hand is on his lower back, pressing firmly against the stripes and slashes from the whip. It presses with lightly veiled intent and he swallows dryly, a monstrous horror and dread slowly awakening and stealing over his mind. It pierces the fog of pain and the haze of exhaustion, giving him the energy to jerk away as far as his chains will allow.

The being behind him chuckles darkly, his hand contracting slightly before dragging down and over the bound Jedi's protruding hipbone, and Anakin's shivering increases, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. Utter terror twists in his gut— the long nailed fingers are slipping into his tattered pants, now, and Force, they're _touching_  him and nobody's supposed to touch him except his love—

The hand slips away, the being he cannot see standing flush against his back, its coarse robes rubbing painfully over the open wounds on his skin and the hard evidence of his excitement pressing into the base of the Jedi's spine. He moans in terror, his trembling intensifying at the hot breath in his ear, on his neck, the rough hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise. They tear at his pants, the only covering he has left and he sobs, shaking his head weakly from side to side.

He can't feel the Force, can't move from these awful restraints and the weakness his wounds have given him, and he knows there's no way out. His head drops to his chest as he's exposed fully to the cold air, sweat and blood making his skin clammy and damp.

A cruel hand drags over his hip and down his back, and suddenly there are fingers _there_  and Force, no, this can't actually be happening, this is a nightmare he can't escape from and he's going to break, this will break him and they'll kill him and he'll never, ever hold his love in his arms again—

Silent tears stream down his cheeks, terror and revulsion and self disgust circling endlessly in his head, and now there's pain and  _oh, stars, no,_  the fingers are _inside_  of him now and it hurts, it burns— a different burn from the acid and the whip, but he'd infinitely prefer one of those to this demeaning, revolting action.. It stretches him painfully far, and it's so dry and crudely done and so, so _painful_ — and then they're gone, and he's sobbing in relief, but the hot breath on his neck is getting heavier and faster and more excited, and he's trembling so hard and shaking his head, desperate whimpers escaping his lips, and he can hear a fumbling behind him, the clink of a belt buckle and the rustle of fabric and suddenly he's being grabbed and a hand is gripping his hip so tightly, too tightly; the nails have broken the skin, he can feel the trickle of blood down his hip. The body is pressed more firmly to his back and there's suddenly something thick and blunt and hard there and _no, why this, why_ —

And just as he's surrendering himself to the inevitable horror, bracing himself against the nightmare that's about to take place, there's a slam as the door is thrown open.

His assailant is dragged away from him not a second later, a heavy thump indicating that he's been thrown to the wall and is most likely unconscious.

He's terrified to hope but he does, his eyes slowly opening to glance around the tiny chamber; and there's the being— a Zabrak, he can see, he's never going to look at that species the same way again— and there's a brush of warm air over his cheek and he turns and _Force_.

The human before him is a cross between a vengeful dragon and a guardian angel, gorgeous copper hair shimmering in the dim light and bright, exquisite green eyes searching his own face worriedly. There's a soft, gentle hand on his hip, soothing away the lingering feeling of the Zabrak's, and belatedly he realizes his savior is speaking, perfect lips forming words that tremble with horror and anguish.

He blinks, relief and lingering terror mixing to make a powerful aphrodisiac that is the only thing keeping him conscious. His lips feel numb, his tongue heavy in his mouth and he swallows, a slurred "What?" escaping and chafing at his abused vocal cords.

Obi-Wan— because of _course_  it's Obi-Wan, his Master, protector, his lover, his _Light_ ; Obi-Wan is always there, is always going to save him— shakes his head and wraps an arm loosely around Anakin's terribly slim waist, using the Force to pull the chains from the ceiling and shoving his terror for his Anakin deep inside himself.

Anakin's arms fall from the position they've been in since he'd been brought to this cell and he moans in pain at the change, blood rushing back into the limbs and stinging and burning and prickling; but it's okay because _Obi-Wan_  is here, Obi-Wan is holding him and whispering that everything will be alright and to _please just hold on for me, Anakin, I'll get you out of here_ — and Anakin just wants to be held, just wants to go home and watch the stars in Obi-Wan's arms like they used to, but those memories seem so far away...

He's brought back to himself as his lover shifts, wrapping his own thick cloak around Anakin's broken, shivering, unclothed body and picking him up, cradling him lovingly and so, so carefully. He moans in pain and there's a whispered apology, a feathery light kiss pressed to his forehead and strong arms holding him tightly to a broad, muscular chest.

His head rests against Obi-Wan's heart, the steady beat calming him and taking his mind away from his agony, and Obi-Wan is moving swiftly and silently through darkened, empty halls. He must've blacked out at some point, because the next thing he knows is there's a steady hum of a ship's engine under his body, and the strong embrace he'd been held in was gone, his body instead resting on something that seemed sinfully soft to his abused flesh.

His head is spinning— he's overdue for an injection of that horrible Force suppressing drug, but it's _okay_ because it's coming back to him; and he prefers to have the Force and a headache instead of no Force at all— and then there's an impossibly gentle hand on his forehead, soothing away the ache. Bleary blue eyes open, hazy with exhaustion and suffering but with a bright flicker of love within their depths, and they lock onto his beloved's face.

Obi-Wan kneels at his side, bacta, bandages and a bowl of warm water on the low shelf beside him. There are dark circles under his eyes— Anakin tries to brush a finger over his cheek but he's too weak for even that simple movement— but he looks so happy, so relieved that Anakin is here and alive.

There's a nudging in the back of his mind and he focuses on it, his senses suddenly exploding with the warmth of the Force and that precious, cherished presence reaching eagerly to connect with his again. He's crying, and there are tears on Obi-Wan's cheeks, and his Master leans to press the most chaste, meaningful kiss to his lips— love and adoration and a blessed relief pouring through their Bond, swirling with his joy and wonder at being freed at last.

Obi-Wan lingers for a moment, memorizing once again the familiar, treasured pressure and texture of his darling's lips on his, and then he pulls away, a hand pushing back the unruly mop of tangled curls atop Anakin's head. He smiles softly, fingers tapping along Anakin's cheek and he lifts a hypospray to the Knight's elbow. Anakin barely feels the injection, his eyes already drifting closed and his head leaning into the warm hand, Obi-Wan's warm contentment and love cradling him in the Force and he finally, finally knows he's safe.

Nothing will harm him while Obi-Wan is there, so he lets himself drift away, the hazy figure of his angel carrying him effortlessly into a dreamless sleep.

•–•–•

Epilogue

•–•–•

They stargaze, now, Anakin cradled in Obi-Wan's arms as they lie back on their cloaks in the soft grass; the night sky a midnight blue-black and shimmering with countless stars. Anakin laughingly points out a constellation, teeth flashing with a bright smile in the darkness, and Obi-Wan can't tear his eyes away from him.

His hand strokes gently over Anakin's abdomen, fingertips running lightly around the only remaining scar from his captivity— the puckered, angry skin still damaged from the acid spray.

Anakin is beaming, talking quietly about the mythological Tatooinian lore of the Dragon in the skies— speaking to Obi-Wan of its ferocious protectiveness of its loved ones and the startling similarities between the Dragon and the Angels of Iego. Obi-Wan gazes, enraptured, at his joyful face, memorizing again and again the fine details of Anakin's features, faint in the shadows of the night but known so well to the Master he can see them as well as if it was mid afternoon.

Anakin pauses in his spiel, knowing eyes turning to Obi-Wan's, and he reaches a hand to curve around the back of his neck, tugging gently. The elder Jedi flushes— barely obvious in the darkness but Anakin _knows_ — leaning down to lightly brush their noses together, practiced lips finding lips under the stars, free hands moving to twine with each other on the Knight's stomach.

They kiss, and the horrors are driven farther away, the nightmare of months before now barely even a memory. Anakin still awakens, shuddering in terror, but Obi-Wan is there to soothe him and take away the horror with loving touches and whispered pledges, and Anakin's not fully healed emotionally— but he will be, someday, and he's trying, and when he's with Obi-Wan, he can forget.


End file.
